


See You Tonight

by fallfromgraceonmyface92



Category: Green Day
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, California, Escapism, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Original Character(s), Past Domestic Violence, Revised Version, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-21 16:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20696768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallfromgraceonmyface92/pseuds/fallfromgraceonmyface92
Summary: Abel leaves her small town to go to sunny California, for seemingly no reason other than boredom, but under the surface, she's hiding a dark and painful past. When apropos of nothing, she meets Tré Cool, after months of living on the beach, she begins to learn that making your own way in California is tougher than she had ever imagined.--This is a revision of a story I wrote a really long time ago and I hate author insertions, myself, but when re-reading it after all these years, I felt like this baby deserved her day in the sun. Enjoy!





	1. 8th Avenue Serenade

She walked quietly through the unfamiliar landscape; the streaks of California sunset long gone to the night. Dejectedly, she found herself circling the same four blocks, again and again. She laughed bitterly thinking, 'I guess I'm the kind of person can be lonely just about anywhere.' She didn't feel unsafe here, but she felt an enormous separateness she'd not once felt before.

She had long since memorized the layout of these four blocks despite at no time observing the names of the streets. It was a deli here, a Laundromat there; a stereotypical cityscape. The solitary thing out of place, therefore, the lone thing of interest to her was a dimly lit bar, cigarette smoke seeming to ooze from every crevice of the brick building.

The flickering neon sign above the door read 'harlie's' since the C seemingly was long ago burnt out, adorned with an equally blinking cocktail glass, sloshing side to side. She had observed it in passing many times. It didn't seem a particularly lively place, nor dangerous. They were exactly the conditions she needed, yet she walked by once again, not ready to face humanity quite yet.

As she continued around the blocks, she pondered exactly the circumstances that had brought her here, to this place. She told herself that it was classic escapism. She tried to convince herself that is was simply because life in the Midwest had been dull and dissatisfying, so like any other misguided youth; she sought refuge in the great Unknown. And she didn't regret her decision, not really. She only wished she had thought things through before she ended up sleeping on the beach without a friend in sight.

'Maybe,' she thought pulling her leather jacket tighter; despite the heat, 'it's time I made a friend.' Finally, she had made her way back to 'harlie's' and stood facing the smoking building, facing down her fear. She stepped forward and pushed the squealing door open. She felt eyes probing her visage and felt acutely aware of her Converse, leather jacket and red jeans as she sat down at the bar.

She looked at her surroundings a moment, noticing that hardly anyone in the place was under 60 and every few seconds someone hacked, with an evident smoker's cough. Though the faces around her didn't seem inherently unfriendly, it was clear that her presence was an unusual sight to them. The fingers of her delicate hand suddenly became quite interesting.

She looked up at the sound of a throat clearing before her. She gazed upon a kindly looking woman, her hair bluish and bushy; her face wrinkled with age. Her eyes crinkled in an uncertain smile.

"Hey there, dear," she said in a scratchy, out of place, southern tone, probably thanks to the cigarette smoke, "what'll it be?"

She stared back blankly. She actually thought she was allowed to just sit.

"Uh, I-I'll have a beer, please," she told her, mentally scolding herself, she hated beer.

At the sign of manners, the elderly barkeep audibly breathed a sigh of relief before turning on the tap to fill a glass.

She sat the sweating glass in front of her before a rotund man with a large beard called, "Tracy, can I get one for the road?"

You could practically smell him from down the bar.

Tracy filled a glass with water and placed it before him.

"Now, Murph, we both know you've had enough," she told him firmly, "now drink this and get on home."

She liked Tracy for that. Murph grumbled but did as he was told.

She took a sip of the beer before her and winced at the bitter taste. Tracy laughed, turning to the bottles before replacing the beer with something red and fruity looking.

"I didn't think you looked like the beer type," she told her, "what's your name, girl?"

She sipped the drink, smiling at the milder taste, "my name's Abel."

"Strange name for a young lady," Tracy said sweeping a rag over the bar, "short for anything?" Abel laughed. This was a common misconception.

"Nope," she told Tracy, "just plain old Abel."

"Anyway," Tracy said, smiling as Abel took a gulp of her drink, "you're not lookin' for that fella over there, are ya?"

She flicked her thump towards a booth in the back corner. A man sat, a beer bottle in hand, all by his lonesome.

"No," she told Tracy earnestly, "just kind of stumbled in," Although, she could see why one might think so, like her, he wore a pair of black Chuck Taylor's and a leather jacket, both of which were much nicer than hers.

Recognition hit her like a Louisville Slugger to the side of the head.

However, I think I know who he is," she told Tracy, idly stirring her drink with a straw.

"A friend of yours?" Tracy asked already preparing another red drink.

"No, he's pretty famous, actually?" Abel told her anxiously, downing the fruity concoction.

"For what?" Tracy asked disbelievingly, placing the finished drink in front of Abel, “we don’t usually get those types in this part of town.”

"He's the drummer of a band… called Green Day," Abel told her knowledgeably, in a hushed tone.

"Green Day, huh? I think my granddaughter likes them," Tracy replied, quite loudly.

At the mention of Green Day, the man visibly tensed up. Abel knew why, of course. One could never be careful enough with the eyes of publicity ever awaiting your failure.

Tracy also seemed to notice his sudden intensity because she added in a conspirator's tone, "I think he's shy." 'Far from it,' Abel thought, although his calmness was disquieting to her.

"So, is this Green Day any good?" Tracy asked Abel in a hushed voice. Abel found herself wondering if Tracy had nothing better to do as Murph tipped his hat to her and lumbered toward the door, leaving Abel noticing the sudden lack of patrons as the jukebox began a melancholic tune.

She nodded to Tracy emphatically, "World famous. I like them, like, a lot."

"How about this drummer?" Tracy nodded his way, "should I be worried?"

Abel laughed.

"He used to have quite the wild streak," she said, "but he seems pretty tame, now. He’s hilarious."

Tracy grinned and sat upon a tall stool on the opposite side of the bar.

"That man looks old enough to be your father," she observed with a chuckle, cleaning a glass with her rag. Tracy seemed to be a walking cliché.

Abel shrugged. She knew Tracy's words were true but could not explain as she thought over everything she knew about him and endeared him to her. Tracy smiled warily and patted her hand.

"You're crazy about this man, huh?" She asked Abel, knowingly. Abel eyes widened, embarrassed over her transparency.

"N-no! And even if I was, I’m just some plebe, he has no clue I exist," Abel admitted, wondered how her train of thought so hastily changed.

"Ain't nothing wrong with admiring from afar," Tracy told her with a grin, "what's his name?"

"T-Tré," Abel told her suspiciously.

"Tré!" Tracy called suddenly. Abel thought she just may fall over dead from embarrassment. Tré, too, looked taken aback by the sudden recognition of this old biddy.

"You've been nursin' that bottle a long time," she observed in a sharp tone, "Why don'tcha come get another?"

Tré sat stunned, a moment, before nodding and heading towards the bar. Abel's mouth hung agape a few seconds before she remembered her manners. Tracy smiled and grabbed a bottle from beneath the bar.

Tré came to stand beside Abel, still looking bewildered. Tracy held the bottle over the bar towards him, and as he reached forward, she let go and sent it to the floor where it smashed to pieces.

"Clumsy me," Tracy laughed, "I gotta go get a towel from the back. This is Abel; keep her company, will ya?" She rushed away before either of them could object.

Tré smiled and sat on the stool on Abel's other side.

"Clever old gal," he said to Abel with a laugh.

"W-what do you mean?" Abel asked him nervously.

"She already had a towel in her apron," Tré said bursting into laughter, tickled by this observation. Abel laughed too.

"So, Abel, huh?" He inquired, his light-blue eyes piercing her green ones. She nodded feeling her cheeks redden at the sound of her name on his lips. He held out his hand, and she took it, finding it surprisingly soft.

His blue eyes twinkled in the dim, smoky light. "I'm Tré Cool but, uh, I guess you already knew that."


	2. Carpe Diem

Abel broke out in a sweat at the suggestion that she had piqued Tracy's interest in him. She swept a curl behind her ear and looked at him a moment. He was not exactly the man who had captured her heart from afar, in her teenage years; his fingernails unpolished, no dark eyeliner beneath his clear, blue eyes, his auburn hair ungelled and limp, and his round face beginning to age, and yet she still found herself beaming in adoration at him.

He cleared his throat after a moment, and she realized she had been staring.

"I'm so s-sorry," she admitted, her cheeks pink, "t-this kind of, um, thing has never happened to me."

"You mean you don't usually stare at men with a glazed look in your eye?" Tré asked her with a chuckle. Abel's cheeks flushed and if Tré noticed, he made no comment as he downed the half-full beer.

"N-no, I meant you don't usually walk into a bar to find one of your musical heroes sitting alone, a beer in hand," she told him earnestly, taking a large swallow of her fruit concoction.

"Meh," he said looking her in the eye, "I'm not a big deal."

Once again, Abel's jaw dropped.

"Not a big deal?" she asked incredulously, "I have no clue who I'd be without your influence." Tré smiled but rolled his eyes.

"I don’t know how to break it to you but, uh, I'm not exactly a good influence," he told her with a snort. Abel looked at him in disbelief as Tracy began to mop up the smelly mess beside her.

"You're not going all midlife crisis on me," she asked him sheepishly, "are you?"

"Perhaps I am," he admitted, running his fingers through his messy hair.

"A band is only as good as their drummer," Abel said to him, "a-and if I say so myself, you're a damn fine one."

He smiled as if flattered and Tracy placed a new beer in front of him, satisfied.

"You say that like you're some kind of expert," he noted with a laugh, taking a swig of the fresh beer.

"I kind of used to pride myself on being a bit of a Green Day expert," she revealed with a blush. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. He was quiet for a moment as if thinking.

"When is my birthday?" He asked her quizzically.

"December 9th," she answered with confidence.

"What year was insomniac released?"

"1997."

"Mike's real last name?"

"Pritchard."

"Where are you from?" He asked suddenly.

Abel sighed, "The Midwest. Indiana, specifically."

"What's wrong with that?" He inquired with genuine curiosity.

She grinned, "It's no California."

"That's true," he acquiesced, "you staying around here?"

Abel blanched. She felt certain that couldn't tell him the dirty details of her life or the conversation would quickly be over, so, naturally, she decided to change the subject.

"W-what brings you to a place like this?" Abel redirected quickly.

"Well being a Green Day expert," he told her with a laugh, "I'm sure you heard about Billie's struggles with sobriety. I don’t have buddies to drink with anymore, so sometimes I go somewhere where almost no one knows who I am so I can pretend to just be a normal dude having a beer."

She just nodded with understanding.

"Don't think I didn't notice," he remarked with a smirk. She cringed.

"Notice what?" She asked in an attempt to be sly.

"Where are you staying?" He asked, perceptively.

"W-well, for a while," she muttered, "I stayed at a motel on the other side of town."

"And now?" He asked, his fingers drumming anxiously against the bar. "O-Ocean Beach,' She

sputtered, her cheeks flushing. His eyes widened, and he looked over her appearance. She put up an okay façade but upon closer examination, she had dark circles under her eyes and her already sharp cheekbones gave way to gaunt hollows in her cheeks. Tré was startled for her.

"Why didn't you go home?" He demanded.

"T-that's like accepting defeat," she told him all too quickly before downing the rest of the red drink, "I-I didn't just come here for my health."

"Why did you come here?" he all but demanded. Once again, she found herself frozen in embarrassment. Her dreams were cliché and she felt certain he would laugh.

"I-I want to write," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

"Are you any good?" He asked, nodding Tracy over.

"I wouldn't know," Abel told him honestly. She lacked confidence in herself, in her naivety.

Tracy padded over to Tré.

"I'll have another beer and whatever that is, please," he asked of her, nodding to Abel's empty cocktail glass.

Tracy smiled and went to work. After a moment, she placed a bottle before Tré and a red cocktail before Abel and then moved back to the other end of the bar where she began reading a newspaper. Abel gratefully took a large gulp, her head beginning to get fuzzy.

"Well, obviously, I can't let you sleep on the beach," he said calmly. Abel nearly choked on the fruity stuff.

"What?" She coughed, sitting her drink back upon the bar, “it’s not like I have an acceptable alternative.”

"I'm taking you home," he told her before taking a long drink of his Budweiser.

"No way," she spouted, "I'm not going back to Indiana!"

Tré laughed and peered observantly into her eyes, as though searching for something.

"I meant my home," he explained after a moment.

Her eyes widened, and her chest tightened up with apprehension. She couldn't fathom what was happening.

"Why would you help me?" She gasped, "You don't even know me. You can’t just invite random fans back to your house, Tré! Are you insane? What if I was crazy or something?" A severe look crossed over his face.

"If you were a Green Day expert," he said briskly, "you would know that at one time I had to survive on the kindness of strangers." His tone made her feel ashamed, yet it did nothing to alleviate her anxiety or suspicion. She threw back the contents of her glass.

"Look, Tré," she began bitterly, "I'm not that kind of girl."

Tré just laughed. Her cheeks reddened with indignation. Was it so hard to believe that she wasn't some common street urchin?

"Abel," he said plainly, before gulping down the rest of his beer, "it's not like that."

Abel breathed a sigh of relief and flushed with embarrassment at her own stupidity.

"Let's get out of here," Tré instructed with a grin, pulling a fifty from his pocket and placing it on the bar. Abel pulled her wallet from her pocket and placed her last twenty beside it.

Tracy appeared with a smile and placed the money in her apron, "y’all have a good night, now." Tré nodded politely and gestured to the door.

As they stepped outside, Abel was surprised to find it had grown colder in the short time she'd been inside, the alcohol in her system chilling, rather than warming, her. Tré produced a ring of keys from his pocket, before pressing a button causing a chirp from a cherry red Mercury Comet across the street.

"Ah," Tré sighed with contentment, "Gypsy." He began to cross the darkened street only to stumble midway.

"T-Tré," Abel murmured catching his arm, "maybe you shouldn't drive just yet."

He looked like he might argue for a moment before thinking better of it and nodding.

"You're probably right," he said with a shrug.

"Maybe we should walk for a bit," she suggested, towing him out of the road and down the sidewalk.

"So," he asked conversationally, "where to?"

"Well," she told him as they began down the same four blocks that she circled less than an hour before, "I've got to make a stop somewhere, but first we should probably get some coffee in you."

He nodded placidly.

She knew there was a 24-hour coffee shop down the street and pulled him by the elbow toward it. The dim sign outside the shop read 'Brewed Awakening.' She shoved through the door and directed Tré to a booth in the corner of the sparsely furnished store. He smiled gratefully up at her as she assisted him in sliding in. It felt strange to Abel to see him in this state.

"What kind do you drink?" she asked him softly.

"Vanilla cappuccino," he told her with a lazy grin, "I'm surprised you didn't know that." She rolled her eyes and walked to the counter, where a tired-looking teenager stood, his eyes red and drooping.

"Is that Tré Cool?" He muttered quietly. She shrugged and avoided the question.

"Can I have two French Vanilla cappuccinos, please?" She asked trying to hide the irritation she felt. He rang it up and she handed him a handful of singles, and he returned with two Styrofoam cups.

She returned to Tré, who was leaned against the table humming. She placed the cup before him, and he quickly moved upright.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he mumbled, attempting to sip the hot coffee.

"What’s there to apologize for?" She asked with confusion.

"When I said, 'it's not like that,’" he began, "I didn't mean you weren't attractive."

Abel flushed bright red and chuckled nervously at his admission.

"I wasn't offended," she told him, earnestly.

"It's just, y’know," he told her, his fingers drumming habitually on the table, "I like my women like I like my scotch."

Abel grinned, "13 years old and stored in the basement?"

Tré burst into laughter, "I was going to say aged and smooth but that works, too."

For the next few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence as Tré allowed the coffee to soak into him. After a while, he cleared his throat.

"So," he asked more soberly than before, "where do you need to go after this?"

Abel sighed, "I hid my book bag, and it has everything I own inside. I probably should have kept it on me but I… get a little paranoid sometimes." He nodded with sympathy before taking a gulp from his now cooled coffee.

"You ready to go then?" He asked unsmilingly, "I think I'm okay to drive, now."

She looked him over a moment to assess whether or not he was correct before nodding.

They headed out of the shop and back towards the red car deemed ‘Gypsy,’ who glittered in the dim streetlight. Once again, he pulled out his keyless entry remote and Gypsy chirped as if in greeting, and Tré held the door open for her. She slid inside and sat in awe of the decadent interior, as he closed the door behind her. She buckled her seatbelt before running her fingers over the white leather she sat upon. He slipped into the driver's seat and turned to her appraisingly.

"She's beautiful," Abel murmured with a smile.

He shrugged nonchalantly, despite a proud smile, and asked, "Where to?"

"Ocean Beach," she reminded him, fighting waves of anxious nausea. He nodded and started Gypsy with a purr. His driving terrified her more than a little bit, and she wondered whether she had been foolish to ride with him, as they darted down the darkened streets.

As the beach came into view, a sense of dread grew within her. Eventually, they came near a public bathroom.

"Here," she told him briskly. He braked stiffly and she lurched forward, thankful for the seatbelt.

"You hid your stuff in a bathroom?" He asked his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight above the beach. She nodded, embarrassed and leaped from the car.

She rushed forward and pushed her way into the ladies’ room. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered creating a disturbing atmosphere. She nervously padded forward to the handicap stall and locked the door behind her. She shivered with déjà vu and climbed to stand up on the toilet. She stared up at the stained ceiling, a brown heart cake upon it, looking for signs of tampering and finding none. She shoved the dirty tile up and to the side and began feeling around inside. Abel expected her belongings to be waiting just on the inside, and fear and sadness soaked into her bones when she came up empty-handed. She turned quickly and felt around the other side to no avail.

She deliberated frantically, 'I was mistaken, maybe this the wrong stall.' Though as she replaced the tile, she knew that there was no mistaking that dirty heart shape. Her chest tightened as she let herself out of the stall and left the smelly place with tears prickling in her eyes.

As she stepped back inside Gypsy, she felt like a fist was squeezing her heart. Tré looked her over expectantly and as she met his light-blue eyes, only furthering her shame, she began to cry. Tré looked shocked and uncertain.

"W-what's wrong?" He asked his voice squeaking with anxiety. She shook her head.

"Someone," she began, fighting back sobs, "stole my stuff."

"It's not so bad," he told her, unsure, "you could get new stuff." Fresh tears burned her eyes and streaked down her cheeks.

"That was everything I owned," she cried, her face in her hands, "my clothes, my sketchbook, my family photos." Tré shook his head in remorse.

"I'm sorry," he told her, his voice broken. She felt ashamed of herself and quickly swiped away the tears. She could no more burden him than she already was and shook her head profusely.

"It's okay," she murmured, "we can go now."

He sighed and shifted Gypsy into drive. As they drove through the unfamiliar cityscape, the first colors of sunrise streaked across the sky in vibrant reds and oranges. She allowed Gypsy’s quiet purr to lull her into comfort as she leaned against the cool window and drifted off.

All too soon, she felt someone shaking her awake. She batted the hands away.

"The beach is public property," she grumbled without opening her eyes, "I'm not hurting anything."

"Abel," a familiar voice mumbled, "we're here."

Her eyes begrudgingly opened to find Tré smiling over at her with patience. She sat up quickly, hoping she hadn't drooled on Gypsy's interior. She looked to through the windshield to find an extremely large, white, two-story ranch-style house, the neatly trimmed grass before it glittering as the morning dew absorbed the California sunrise.

"This is my humble abode," Tré said with a quiet laugh, before opening the door to step out. Abel just stared on in awe before Tré gestured her toward the house. She stumbled from Gypsy's warm interior into the brisk morning. As they began up the sidewalk, Tré whistled an unfamiliar tune and twirled his ring of keys. As they approached the oak door, he keyed open several locks before pushing the door open to reveal a beautiful living room decked out with black Italian leather furniture and fluffy white carpeting. An extremely large flat-screen TV hung darkened upon the milky wall. A lacquered, black oak table lay before it and a glossy red staircase began in the corner. She gasped at its beauty and turned to face Tré her eyes wide with wonder. He just smiled and took off his jacket and hung it upon the wall, his muscular biceps bare underneath. She tensed up as his hands touched her shoulders before he began to slide her coat off. She quickly pulled her arms from it and handed it to him.

He gestured toward a hallway near the stairs and began toward it. She meekly followed him as he turned into a luxurious kitchen, all black granite, and silver.

He turned to the refrigerator and pulled bottled water from inside before asking, "You want anything?"

"W-water's fine," she mumbled softly, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. He handed her a bottle and directed her back into the dark living room and gestured for her to sit.

She practically sank into the comfy, leather couch and Tré turned toward the stairs.

"I'll be right back," he explained as he went. She sat nervously for a minute before he paced quickly back down, a bundle of fabric in his arms. As he reached the couch, he threw part of the bundle beside her.

The remainder he handed to her with a sleepy smile, "They'll probably be huge on you, but you can sleep in them." She thanked him quietly.

"The bathroom's down the hall to the left," he whispered to her awkwardly, "I'm going to head to bed."

"Goodnight," she mumbled as he turned and headed back up the stairs, “thank you, again.”

She sat in silence a moment before kicking off her shoes and wandering through the dark and into the bathroom, which was, of course, glamorous and large. She shut the door quietly and stripped quickly down to her underwear, blushing despite her solitude. She looked at the clothes he had given her; a faded black T-shirt and a large pair of grey sweatpants. She slid into the pants and tied the drawstring as tight as it would go before pulling the shirt over her head. She breathed in the scent tentatively, a musky, sweet smell wafting into her nostrils. She sighed as she neatly folded her jeans and T-shirt and left to the living room.

She spread the blanket he gave her over herself as she lay down on the cool leather. As she closed her eyes, she thanked the heavens for Tré and his kindness but knew she could not take advantage of him. She would not. She curled up beneath the fluffy blanket and tried to plan her next step, to no avail. All she knew was she planned to get out of his hair as soon as she woke. Sleep had never come easy to Abel and that night was no exception but as she finally drifted off she felt safe for the first time in a long time.


	3. Worry Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I have like 8 more chapters to edit and publish but I have to sleep but it doesn't matter because no one is probably going see this. :D If you do happen to see this and like it, drop me a comment so I don't lose hope.

What little rest Abel got that night was fitful. She tossed and turned all night upon the plush couch, dreaming of wandering around her old home only to find it barren and empty. All the while, a thunderstorm brewed outside, thunderclaps seeping into what was quickly becoming a repetitive nightmare. Finally, as the dream reached its peak, she came to stand before her old bedroom door, as a sense of dread tugged on her sub-conscious.

With hesitation within her, she slowly turned the knob to find a beautiful porcelain doll. She breathed a sigh of relief and began toward it. She stopped in her tracks as the doll began to contort, its glassy lips pulling into a sharp smile before it began to cackle a shrieking laugh.

She burst awake just then, her ears ringing from the shrill laughter. She realized this laughter was not a figment of her imagination as she had thought. Upon the table before her sat a young boy, shaking with laughter. Her eyes narrowed, and her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. The olive-skinned boy's mouth snapped shut at her reaction. He held his hands up in an apologetic gesture.

She shook her head trying to remember exactly where she was. She glared at the dark-haired boy a moment before she realized who he was.

"Frankito," she mumbled, "I presume."

"Yes, ma'am," he told her.

"Frankito," Tré called from what Abel assumed was the kitchen, "leave her alone."

"Sorry," Frankito called back, running his fingers through his black hair.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he apologized quietly, "it's just that you talk in your sleep." Abel's cheeks flushed, and she ran her fingers through her tangled hair.

"What in God's name did I say?" She asked frantically.

"Nothing much," Frankito told her with a chuckle, "mostly mumbles." Abel sighed in relief before Frankito held up his hand to halt her.

"There was something though," he admitted with a grin, "I believe it was, 'Help me, Tré,'" Abel's hands flew to her face.

"Oh my God," she groaned in exasperation. Frankito stood and patted her bushy hair.

"It's cool," he told her, "Your secret is safe with me." For some reason, this reassurance brought tears brimming in her eyes.

"Thanks, kid," she muttered.

"Breakfast," Tré called from down the hall. Abel uncovered her face as Frankito started toward the kitchen. He turned to her as she swiped her tears away.

"Come on," he motioned her forward. She begrudgingly followed him only to be met with the smell of bacon. It suddenly occurred to her; she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything other than cheap junk food.

"Abel," Tré greeted warmly as she stepped into the spacious kitchen, "I see you've met Frankito." She nodded, standing awkwardly in the threshold. Frankito began piling mounds of eggs and bacon onto his plate, the smell wafting in Abel's direction causing her stomach to growl in response. She chuckled in embarrassment before Tré motioned her to the island counter. She slowly padded over and pulled herself into a tall stool. Tré pulled a plate from a cabinet and began placing food on it.

"I hope you're not a vegetarian," he said with a laugh, as he placed it before her, "we eat a lot of meat in this house."

Abel smiled shyly back at him and stared down at the steaming hot food. She hesitated a moment as her mouth watered. Frankito laughed and shoved a fork into her palm ending her indecision. She shoved a small bite of eggs in her mouth and to her delight, they were perfect and fluffy. She ate with haste and it took every measure of self-restraint she had not to lick the plate when she was done.

As she looked up, Frankito stared incredulously and Tré grinned with approval.

She blushed and muttered, "I never expected you to be this good of a cook." Tré laughed heartily.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Frankito told her with a grin.

A while later, Abel excused herself from the counter and drifted back to the living room where she found her clothes missing.

"They're in the dryer," Tré said startling her out of her confusion, "everything was caked with sand." Just then, he threw her a towel.

"Tré," she began, "I was just going to-"

"Nope," he said cutting her off.

He directed her to the bathroom and stood awkwardly at the door.

"Well," she said scratching the back of her neck, "I guess I'm gonna take a shower." Tré shifted oddly and cleared his throat before nodding and walking away. Once inside she quickly removed the borrowed clothes and turned on the complex looking shower. While waiting for the shower to warm up, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror, and as she did a gasp ripped through her chest.

She hadn't realized just how much weight she had lost, but now her bones stuck out at strange angles, her cheekbones even sharper than before in her sallow looking face. Her eyes were lined with deep circles and her hair, while still frizzy and curly, laid mostly limp against her skull. Her scrawny arms reflexively flew up to cover her body and shield her mind, but as she slid under the hot water, she knew it was too late to stop the sobs of despair that shook her frail body.

She dare not touch the assortment of soaps lined in the door but to her relief and confusion, she found that some feminine looking shampoo and conditioner lying on the floor of the shower, and she squeezed a sparse amount into her palm and vigorously scrubbed the sand from her hair, raking her nails across her scalp. This alone took 20 minutes before finally, her red, burning scalp was sand-free.

Meanwhile, Tré and Frankito sat in the down the hall in the living room, Tré in the leather recliner, Frankito on the couch that Abel slept on. Her blankets folded neatly in the corner. Frankito stared blankly down at his algebra homework, bouncing his pencil rhythmically back and forth on his binder, while Tré stared down at his cell phone, reflexively tapping his foot along with the beat.

Just then Frankito mumbled in observation, "she's been in there a long time."

Without looking up Tré replied, "she covered in sand. She's been staying on the beach." Frankito's eyes widened, yet Tré didn't look up.

"Dad," Frankito all but shouted, "how do you know she's not some kind of dope fiend, or worse a serial killer?!" Tré shook his head and finally turned to look at his son, a weak smile playing on his lips.

"Frankito," Tré said with confidence, placing a hand on his shoulder, "it's all about the eyes."

Frankito shook his head in incredulity before spouting, "what the hell are you talking about?"

Tré's eyes tightened, but his smile didn't falter.

"You'll get it when you're older," he said simply.

Back in the bathroom, Abel stood wrapped in the towel raking her pruned fingers through her hair before the mirror, doing her best not to look anywhere below the neck. The face alone startled her. She hardly recognized this bony, scraggly woman staring back at her with fear in her eyes. It was only going to get worse; she would starve to the point of pain and then death, on the beach and now with everything she owned gone; she had no way to survive.

For a brief moment, she considered that she should go home and just as quickly she pushed the thought away with a scowl. She would have died before she went back. Someone knocked, and she cracked the door open a peek and saw her clothes folded on the floor outside it. She scooped them up quickly and closed the door, before pulling her clothes on as fast as she could, her skin still slightly damp.

She finally dared to give an appraising glance at herself in the mirror and sighed with relief. Clothed her visage was much less severe, and she looked more model starved than sickly, thanks to her, now nearly constant, light tan. She cringed remembering the unknown fate of her sunscreen. Finally, she pushed the door open with a huff and joined Tré and Frankito in the living room.

"Thanks," she squeaked, sitting down on the couch to pull her Chuck Taylor's on.

Tré waved her words away, "no problem."

She shrugged into her tattered leather jacket, hopped to her feet, and headed toward the door. Tré and Frankito stared after her as she gripped the knob.

"Where are you going?" Tré asked with interest and confusion.

She blushed at his attention, "um, I was just going to get out of your hair." Tré scoffed at her rhetoric and pushed himself from the chair.

"And sleep on the beach tonight?" He asked, his blue eyes bright with disapproval, "not a chance!" Abel flinched back and stared at him; her eyes wide like a wild animal.

"But-," she began her hand still clutching the doorknob as if for dear life.

"Shh," he said to her, swiping her hand from the knob, "just let me help you. You’re safe here." She shook her head in refusal; she would not burden _him_, whose kindness toward her she couldn't even begin to understand. Every nerve in her body told her to get out before she overstayed her welcome. She'd learned that from her first weeks on the street, after having woken upon a park bench with two police officers staring down at her.

Tré gently grabbed her shoulders to stop her head-shaking and stared into her eyes.

"I know you don't belong on the streets," he told her severely, "I want to help you put your life together."

"But," she cried, "why?" Tré blanched. His blue eyes dropped to the carpet.

He shrugged, "I have my reasons."

She blinked back tears and sighed.

"Tré," she reassured him, "any moral obligation you felt was long since fulfilled, seriously."

"No," he told her sharply, "it's not about that."

"Then what," she asked him, turning again toward the door, "What is it about?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, "but don't leave."

Finally, her hand dropped from the door, and she sighed.

Meanwhile, Frankito began his homework, not even trying to comprehend what was happening. Tré grabbed Abel's scrawny elbow and towed her into the kitchen.

"What did you lose?" He asked sitting beside her at the island. At this, his eyes prickled, and she squeezed them shut.

"Almost everything," she groaned, mournfully, "birth certificate, social security card, my books, my resume."

Tré seemed surprised by the latter.

"Your resume?" He asked in confusion.

"From back home," she muttered, "I'm a Communications student. Or I was." Tré sat quietly in thought for a minute, and Abel thought he had forgotten her.

Suddenly, he asked, "you could just call and order your social and stuff, right?"

"I suppose-, "she started to say.

He interrupted her, "and you could retype your resume?" She nodded quickly and wondered what his point was.

"I'll be back," he shouted and disappeared from the room. She sat awkwardly, tapping the toe of her Converse against the metal of the chair. A moment later he returned with a cordless phone and a laptop computer.

"You know how to use this, right?" He asked gesturing to the laptop, which now sat before her. She stared down at the impressive piece of machinery with admiration.

"Of course-" she began but yet again he cut her off.

"Good," he said with excitement, "call and get your papers and type out your resume, I've got to make some phone calls."

“O… kay, then,” Abel replied, amused despite herself.

With that, he left the room, his cell phone already pressed to his ear. She stared after him a moment before opening the laptop and using a search engine to find the number for the courthouse in her hometown. After 45 minutes of arguing. she finally convinced the public official to send her documents to her P.O. Box, which she was sure was practically empty. She then opened a word processor and began to type out a resume from scratch. At some point, melodic music began to flow from downstairs, and some nosey part of her became curious. Finally, when her wrists were sore from misuse, she saved the page and closed the laptop with a sigh.

Frankito peeked his head in then, Stratocaster dangling from a strap across his shoulders.

"What's up?" He asked her cautiously. She shrugged and smiled at him.

"Wondering if my presence has made your father go insane," she replied with a surprisingly easy laugh.

"Nah," Frankito responded, reciprocating her smile, "he crossed that bridge long ago." She chuckled and slid down from the stool.

"Nice Strat," she observed, slipping her hands in her pockets, “my dad had a similar one when I was a kid.”

"You play?" Frankito asked, his fingers strumming soundlessly.

"Guitar, no," she told him, "but I do play a little keyboard." He smiled and told her to follow him. She turned and grabbed the laptop.

"Your dad will probably want this back."

They trudged up the spiral staircase, Frankito leading the way. Frankito took the laptop and walked down the hall to what she assumed was Tré's room. He returned a moment later, empty-handed and gestured toward a door in front of her. He stepped inside, a smile on his lips. She followed him in and, not for the first time, her jaw dropped in amazement.

Before her, was a room jam-packed with, what seemed to her like, every instrument known to man. The walls were lined with what looked to her like foamy egg cartons. Every musical instrument in sight was in incredible condition and made by the highest standard of manufacturers. Frankito practically basked in her reaction before pointing toward a beautiful, complex keyboard before sitting in a metal chair and plugging the Stratocaster into an amplifier bigger than Abel had ever seen up close.

She sat upon the piano bench and flipped on the power switch. Her fingers drifted momentarily over the keys before she began to feel out a tune and a shrill, melancholic melody flowed from the speakers. After a moment, Frankito joined her, his pithy guitar chords meshing seamlessly with her notes. They continued in the fashion for what felt to Abel, like hours, drifting from nameless song to nameless song.

Tré burst in suddenly, his blue-eyes glittering with excitement. Abel's fingers hit a sour note and all three of them cringed until there was silence.

"I think," Tré began with his patent tight-lipped smile, "I've found you a job." Abel flicked the power switch without thinking and stood as Tré started downstairs.

She followed quickly after him, her light footsteps clicking on the wood, "what are you talking about? How?"

At the bottom, he turned suddenly to face her.

"I was looking at your resume," he told her, "when it hit me." She nodded expectantly.

"You can do desk jobs, right?" He asked with sudden uncertainty, "like secretarial work?"

"Yes," she told him, trying to banish the flutter of hope inside her. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"You know how to do an interview? For, like, a job, I mean?" He asked her, his smile even brighter than before. She nodded again, uncertainly.

"Thank God," he sighed, leaning against the wall, "Adrienne will be here any minute." Abel's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. Just then, there was a knock at the door.


	4. Road to Acceptance

Abel's breath caught at her throat. She jumped as someone placed and hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see that it was merely Frankito attempting to reassure her. She released her breath before turning frantically to Tré.

"I don’t know if I’m ready for this," She gasped, gesturing to her attire.

"You'll be fine," Tré told her with a tentative smile. He shoved a comb in her hand and pushed her toward the bathroom.

She stepped inside and began yanking the comb through her frizzy hair, to no avail. She stared at her thin face and began to hyperventilate. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," She said shrilly. Frankito stepped in, a cautious smile upon his lips.

"Chill, Abel, this is all just a- What do you call it? A pretense," He told her, "Adrienne is cool."

"That's the problem," she mumbled, once again preoccupied with the curly, yet lank, mop of hair on her head.

"Just come out when you're ready," Frankito told her quietly and closed the door behind him.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Adrienne sat agitatedly before Tré, all but glaring at his goofy expression.

"Tré," she said her voice giving away nothing of her annoyance, "what are you dragging me into?" At this, he looked down, staring at his red Chuck Taylor's.

"She's a decent kid," He said softly, "she just needs a helping hand. She’s got no one here."

"Well, maybe," Adrienne said, her resolve breaking, "she should go home."

"I can't send her away," He retorted quickly, his eyes sharp with uncharacteristic seriousness. Adrienne blinked at him warily.

"Tré," She told him, "you don't even know this person."

"I don’t know how to explain it… I see a part of myself in her," He replied, "she's scared out of her mind."

"When have you ever been scared of anything, Tré?"

"Look," He told her sharply, "I'm not asking you to understand where I’m coming from. I'm asking you to help me, help her."

"Tré," She replied earnestly, "you're not just risking your own security with this. You're risking your friends and family by inviting a total outsider into our lives."

"She's not a risk."

"You don't know that!"

"Adrienne," He pleaded quietly, "I know you all think I’m just some goofball idiot, but this is important to me. Please, trust me for once." Adrienne's face softened slightly, and after a moment she begrudgingly.

Abel slowly approached them. Her hair was slicked down with water, her black T-shirt baggy on her bony shoulders, and her eyes wide with fear and wonder. Tré stood suddenly and stepped out of Abel's way. Abel padded slowly over to the recliner and sat down, staring at her hands.

"Can I get you anything?" Tré asked Adrienne, attempting to be on his best behavior.

"How about you make some tea, Tré," Adrienne instructed without looking away from Abel. He rolled his eyes but left the room.

"So," Adrienne began, "how’d you end up in California?” Abel looked for the first time into Adrienne's dark-brown eyes. Her olive-skinned face was unsmiling.

"I-I," Abel stuttered and broke away from Adrienne’s piercing gaze, "I came to start my career."

"And what did you have in mind?"

"Well, I'd been working on getting my degree in Communications."

"What happened with that?"

"I-I haven't been to class since last year."

"Why not?"

"I-I left home…"

"Why?"

"I know it sounds bad but it’s… personal." Abel found that she was breathless. Adrienne held her hands up in surrender. She was quiet for a moment, staring off into space. Abel stared down at her Converse, cursing Tré silently, but also cursing herself.

"I'm sorry," Adrienne whispered suddenly, smoothing her dreadlocks against her dark skin.

"Don't be. You have nothing to apologize for," Abel mumbled.

"No," Adrienne to her, looking into her eyes," I am. It's just… This is an odd situation."

"I understand," Abel explained, "I'm an outsider; you're afraid that I'm an imposter or an interloper or something."

"Are you?" Abel only blinked at her in incredulity.

"Let me tell you," Abel snarked, "I decided to starve on the beach, precisely to get a chance to ruin your life." Adrienne shook her head but couldn’t hide the amusement she felt.

Tré came in then and placed a tall glass of iced tea in front of Adrienne. He came to stand behind Abel, with an expectant look on his face.

"So," Adrienne began, her tone falsely jovial, "do you have a resume?"

Abel nodded slowly.

"Frankito," Tré shouted, then, "did you print that out?" Frankito ran downstairs, nearly tripping over his gangly legs. He stopped awkwardly at the bottom.

"I meant to do that," he said with a chuckle as he paced toward Adrienne, a sheet of paper in hand. He shoved it in her hand and rushed over to stand beside Tré. Adrienne stared down at Abel's resume, her round face giving nothing away.

"How are you at answering phones?" She asked quietly.

"I can do it," Abel confirmed.

“You can use Microsoft programs and everything?”

“Yeah, especially Word and PowerPoint,” Abel explained, trying not to sound too confident.

Adrienne looked her over, quietly before sighing. She looked to Tré who raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes glittering with excitement.

"Tré," She said with a tentative smile, "you'd better be right." He simply nodded. She looked to Abel, who was fighting the urge to smile.

"It's not the most exciting work," Adrienne admitted, "but if you want it, you've got the job." Abel couldn't help but smile, now. She hopped to her feet startling the others. She thrust her hand out toward Adrienne, who slowly took it and shook it before standing herself.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Abel cried, unable to conceal a brilliant grin. Adrienne genuinely laughed.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Adrienne told her turning towards the door. Abel nodded gratefully.

"Adeline Records," Adrienne informed her as she started out the door, "Eight a.m."

"I'll be there," Abel called after her, smile plastered on your face. She turned to Tré then, tears prickling her eyes.

"Congratulations," he said softly.

"Thank you," she said to him, tears sliding down her cheeks, "so much. For, like, everything."

At the sight of her tears, Tré blanched. Frankito laughed at his reaction and sauntered out of the room, leaving his father to deal with Abel's emotions.

"D-don't cry. Please," he muttered awkwardly. She glowed crimson and swiped the tears away.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "it's just; I know this sounds stupid but this is the best thing that's happened to me in a long time… Maybe ever." He nodded and stood quietly, while she calmed herself down.

"I-I need to go to the store," she said picking her wallet up from the table.

"What do you need?" He asked in confusion.

"I hardly think it's appropriate to go to my first day of work in red jeans and a worn old T-shirt," she told him with a chuckle, her eyes still shining with tears. He nodded, grabbing his keys from his jacket on the wall.

"I'll give you a ride," he insisted with a smile.

"Tré," She said softly, "you've done enough for a lifetime. I'll walk." He laughed at her.

"Yeah right," He chuckled, "you're a scrawny, white girl wearing red jeans, and I'm not letting you walk around Oakland. Besides, I can always use an excuse to get Gypsy on the road."

Abel rolled her eyes and nodded.

"Frankito," He shouted, "I'm giving Abel a ride to the store!"

"Okay!" Frankito shouted back, from down the hall. Abel laughed then as they headed out the door.

"What?" Tré asked with a goofy smirk.

"You two are very alike," She told him as Gypsy chirped. Tré shrugged and went to open the door for her. She blushed and slid inside Gypsy's inviting leather interior.

In the end, she wound up spending her last $35 dollars on dark jeans, a pack of T-shirts, pajamas and a small gift for Tré. That night, she stood over the sink besides Tré cleaning the dishes left over from a delicious dinner, she found herself smiling more than she had in months as they bantered casually.

"You know," He told her, "I was thinking while you were in the store."

"Uh oh," She joked, "you’d better be careful!" He laughed and nudged her, playfully, with his elbow.

"Oh yeah," He told her with a chuckle, "my hair almost caught on fire."

"I knew I should’ve packed a fire extinguisher," she teased, drying a plate with an old rag, "but anyways?"

"Well," He began, his eyes sparkling with humor, "Claudia moved out a few years ago, and her room has been basically untouched since then." Her hands froze up on the now dry plate.

"And," He continued, his eyes on the cup he was rinsing, "There's no reason for you to sleep on the couch when there's a perfectly good bed upstairs."

"No," She told him, "I couldn't put you out any more than I already have."

"You won't be," He assured her, "it's just there."

"I can't," She refused him, "Tré, you've already done too much."

"I'm not doing anything," He said, handing her a dripping cup, "it's just an offer. Sleep on the couch, if you want, but if you change your mind, there’s no harm done either." She nodded but considered it internally, as she dried it off. She had to admit to herself that it had been a long time since she’d slept in a real bed.

"Besides," Tré told her, "you talk in your sleep." She blushed a deep red at the memory of Frankito's wake up call, and he laughed.

"You do that, a lot," He said smiling over at her.

"What?" She asked, not meeting his eyes.

"Blush," He informed her, "you're red in the face, like 80% of the time."

Just like that, her skin was rouge.

"There you go again," He chuckled as he rinsed the last dirty dish.

"Stop pointing it out," She snarked, taking it from his hands, "or I'll be beet red, forever." He held his hands up in surrender and headed towards the door.

"I'll, uh, go ahead and put blankets upstairs," he said with a grin, "in case you change your mind." She thanked him and placed the bowl in the dish strainer.

She then found herself wandering around the immense house, glowing with joy and excitement. Frankito had a while before gone up to bed due to it being a school night, leaving the house unusually quiet. Eventually, she then plopped down on the couch and sighed with satisfaction. She stretched out and as if her body were reminding her of Tré's offer, she couldn't get comfortable, which was odd since only two nights before she had found comfort on the sandy beach. So, she hesitantly began upstairs, where Tré's bedroom door was propped open with a crate of records. He sat up against the headboard of his fluffy bed; an earbud shoved in his right ear, staring into nothing.

She knocked quietly and he jumped, as though startled, before smiling over sleepily at her. He waved her in, pulling the headphone from his ear. She slowly walked in, taking in as non-intrusively as possible, her surroundings. His room was extremely cluttered, which she had expected. His hamper was overstuffed, clothes lying all around it. All along the walls lay crates and crates full of records, most by artists she'd never heard of. On his dresser were tons of framed photos of him, Frankito and a young girl she recognized as Ramona, his daughter. His thick, black curtains closed over what looked to be like a large, casement window.

Tré patted the bed beside him, for her to sit down and very hesitantly she did. An old iPod Nano laid beside him; the buttons worn from use. She grabbed it quickly.

"What are you listening to?" She asked pressing the button to unlock it. The display read 'Ave Maria – Andrea Bocelli.' She looked at him in surprise.

"What?" He asked taking it from her hands and looking down at the display as though he was unsure.

"Nothing," she told him with a chuckle, "I just didn't take you for the Opera type."

"Well, you learn something new every day," He told her with a grin, “it, uh, soothes me sometimes.”

She nodded empathetically, reached inside her pocket, and pulled out a tiny package.

"Here," Abel said, thrusting it into his hands. He looked up at her in confusion before opening it. Inside was a small, keychain engraved with the name Gypsy. He grinned up at her.

"This is why you took so long?" He inquired with a laugh. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's not much," She told him, feeling inadequate, "but I had to do something."

"It's great, Abel," He said, plucking it from the box and adding it to the keyring on his bedside table, “thank you.” She shrugged dismissively and began to stand.

"Have you changed your mind?" He asked her.

She looked at him oddly, her mind searching for obvious answers to why he was so inclined and found none.

"Why do you ask?"

He grew quiet as though pondering in the same manner she had been.

"Can I ask you something?" He said after a while, attempting to distract her.

"I-I," She stammered before pausing briefly, "-sure."

"How do you feel about me?" He breathed, looking down at the keys in his hand.

Abel laughed and turned redder than Tré had seen so far.

"I-I am SO not going there," she giggled borderline hysterically. Tré stared blankly up at her. She became serious, suddenly.

"You didn't answer my question," she reminded him. Her cheeks were still pink, and she clasped her suddenly clammy hands together.

"Neither did you," He told her, his grin stiff and his eyebrow rose.

She smiled shyly at his expression and softly said, "Yes, I've changed my mind. Where is it?"

He stood then, began down the hallway and he stopped next to Frankito's door. He shoved the door open, flipped the light on and stepped inside. She followed him, and her face lit up. It was a very plain room, with almost no personality whatsoever. The very ordinary-looking bed covered with simple white sheets, gray blankets, and fluffy black pillows. An old-school alarm clock sat on the plastic bedside table. She loved it every simplistic inch of it. She turned to him; her eyes radiant with adoration.

"You have no idea how grateful and indebted you, I am," She told him covering her face with her hands. He hesitated for a second and placed his hand on her shoulder. She froze, not removing her hands from her face, and he quickly removed his.

"It's nothing," he muttered staring oddly down at his feet, pointing to the dresser, "the dresser is empty." She stepped forward and touched his arm lightly with just the tips of her fingers.

"Thank you," she told him with the most genuine appreciativeness he ever saw. She moved away toward the hall.

"Where are you going?" He asked following after her as she started downstairs.

"I have to change," She told him as she got to the bottom.

He stopped in his tracks and said simply, "oh."

"Goodnight, Tré," Abel said smiling up at him, "seriously, thanks a lot." He returned her smile but it didn’t meet his eyes.

"'Night," Tré dryly replied, turning back and heading to his room.

Abel left to the living room to get her things and felt paranoid in the tenebrous dark. She grabbed her small bag of things and scurried down the hall to the bathroom where she flipped on the light and closed the door with a sigh. She changed quickly into her plaid pajamas and ran on her tip toes back upstairs to the spare room. She laid her bags down next to the dresser for the morning and sat on the bed. It was a bit saggy, but she couldn't bring herself to mind as she set the alarm for 6:30 a.m.

She slid beneath the covers and curled tightly against the pillow and sighed in contentment. She heard Tré snoring in the next room and smiled sleepily. She tried not to wonder about Tré's strange and embarrassing question, or his equally confusing change in mood, and focus on her first day of work, in months, at Adeline Records. She shivered at the thought and realized if she continued in this fashion she'd never get to sleep, so instead, she focused on the surprisingly comforting sound of Tré's snoring. Her worries still hung heavy upon her shoulders but as she slipped into the abyss of sleep, she allowed herself to forget.


	5. Wow! That's Loud

Abel woke five minutes before her alarm went off, thanks to Tré. Despite the sound proofing in the practice room, she could clearly hear the clang of cymbals from down the hall. She sat up with a groan and pulled the blanket over her head, in exasperation. She sat like that until the alarm began to toll. She dragged herself from the bed, closed the door and changed into her clothes in the dark. She hobbled from the room and found it odd that she wasn't nearly as pissed as she would have been at anyone else. She found herself comparing the beat he was playing with her mental discography. She realized that the choppy song he was drumming was 'Christie Road.' She shook her head and darted into the practice room.

Tré stopped as Abel busted in and smiled at her from behind the pristine drum set, mischievously.

"I don't think I can actually be mad," she murmured, pushing her hair from her eyes. He quirked an eyebrow.

"Why not?" He asked with confusion.

"You forget who you're talking to," She told him with a tired smile.

"Well, that’s no fun," He said getting up from his stool, simply dropping his sticks on the floor. She smirked at him and left the room.

"By the way," He called after her, "your shirt is on backwards."

Her cheeks flamed and she scurried inside the spare bedroom to fix it, brush her hair and teeth in the en suite bathroom. When she got downstairs, she found Tré at the kitchen table sipping a steaming cup of coffee. She sat across from him, leaned her head against the table. By now nervousness had hit her; she felt so much doubt in her abilities, that she was sure others would see it in her work.

"What's wrong?" Tré asked stirring tons of sugar into his coffee. She looked wide-eyed up at him.

"Nervous," she uttered, simply.

He grabbed his keys from the pocket of his dark jeans and smiled.

"Relax," He told her, calmly, "it'll be cool." He tinkled his keys and stood, chugging the rest of his coffee, most likely scalding his tongue. Abel watched with an amused expression as his face blanked out in pain.

"Hurts really badly, huh?" Abel asked with a snort. He shook his head profusely, but his watering, blue eyes gave him away. She simply smiled and headed for the door. As they stepped into the cool morning, Abel shivered with odd exhilaration. In the long, paved driveway sat Gypsy glimmering in the daybreak sun. Tré clicked his keyless entry and Gypsy trilled briefly.

Tré ambled past Abel and touched Gypsy's hood, gently.

"Good morning, beautiful," He cooed, playfully. Abel blushed at his gooey tone and let herself inside. He smirked at her through the windshield, running his fingers through his messy, auburn hair, his sky blue eyes sparkling in the early morning sun. In that moment, he was no longer a forty year old, in her eyes. He was eternal. He was beautiful to her in a way that, even as a lovestruck child, she’d never contemplated. She flushed and pulled her seatbelt on quickly. He got in and drove off wordlessly, grinning absently.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up out front of a nondescript, unmarked brick building.

"Here we are," Tré told her with a smile, tapping on the stirring wheel to a nonexistent beat. She raised her eyebrows.

"Where is here?" She asked with a wary chuckle, "a glue factory?" He shook his head, before pulling his aviators from the sun visor and putting them on. Her cheeks burned red at the sight.

"You'll see," He told her with a smirk. She warily nodded, looking unblinking back at him. It was his turn to raise his eyebrow.

"Now," He told her in a goofy, bumpkin accent, "get outta here, ya rascal!" She giggled and pushed Gypsy's door open.

She flicked him a salute at him and got out.

"Thanks for the ride," She called over her shoulder, but he was already roaring down the street, making a spectacle of himself by the time she reached the door.

She pushed her way inside and stood in the doorway shocked. As ugly and blank as the outside was, the interior was twice as ornate and. The brick walls were painted bright white and covered with framed photos of their signed bands, including Emily's Army. The carpet was jet black and absolutely, impossibly spotless; the modern furniture was all bright red leather and dark mahogany. Adrienne met Abel the gorgeous lobby. As Abel took in her appearance, she realized in her fear that she had failed to comprehend Adrienne's beauty, upon their first meeting.

Her dark dreadlocks were pulled black in a loose ponytail and she had a strangely warm smile on her rounded face. Abel smiled back and stepped forward to greet her.

"You're early," Adrienne remarked.

"Of course," Abel told her with a shrug, "I said I would be here." Adrienne nodded warily and directed her from the bustling lobby.

As they continued down the hall, Adrienne was quiet. Abel followed her to a shady oak desk. It was polished and sat just outside an office door marked with Adrienne's name. She turned to Abel now.

"My assistant quit last week," She told Abel with a sigh. Abel tilted her head in an inquisitive gesture.

"That's why Tré thought of it, last night," She informed her. Abel thanked her lucky stars.

"May I ask why they quit?" Abel inquired shyly. Adrienne nodded and smiled knowingly.

"She said the workload was too much," Adrienne said with a laugh.

So, for the next seven hours, Abel rushed around, attempting to fulfill a checklist given to her by Adrienne. She made tea. She balanced Adrienne's schedule. She watered the plants. She answered phones. She filed receipts for recording equipment. She put everything she had into those menial tasks; and by the time 5 o'clock rolled around, she was achy and fatigued. Adrienne seemed impressed with her though and that eased the burden. Finally, she said goodbye to Adrienne and the few other people that she'd met and shoved through the door warily.

She looked around for Gypsy and found nothing. She stood on the sidewalk puzzled. The first streaks of sunset were beginning to give everything a surreal, reddish shade. She stood waiting for 10 minutes, only slightly frustrated. She knew that Adrienne had spoken to him, a short time before and considered going back inside to ask her about it, when she became insecure that would appear helpless and, therefore, weak.

She breathed a sigh and started down the street despite having no clue where she was. She made it about a block.

"Hey, you," someone shouted, "get in my van!" She turned and saw Tré sitting across the street in a checkered van that she recognized immediately recognized. The windows and back door painted with photos of his Weimerdoodle named Dooder. She smiled and wondered, idly, where this strange dog was. She came to stand at the edge of the sidewalk.

"There candy in there?" She asked with a smirk.

"Come find out," He told her with a chuckle, wriggling his eyebrows. She looked shyly down at her feet a moment, before smiling up at him and running forward. She moved to the passenger door, pulled it open and laughed. The inside of the van was painted bright yellow, with a big white steering wheel stick straight out of the dashboard. The seats and ceilings were lined with red velvet and fur. She pulled herself into the cushy seat and giggled.

"What's funny?" Tré asked smiling his thing lips grin. She sighed in gratification and looked at his face in the dim lighting.

"You," She told him smiling shyly, “this van, just everything.” He chuckled and Abel buckled her seat belt. Tré shifted the van into gear and Abel looked over her shoulder into the back. The floor of the van was lined in cheetah print carpet. The bench seat and what appeared to be a large subwoofer were also covered in whitish fur and pillows. One of which was painted to look like Burt Reynolds. It was gaudy, silly and just so Tré.

"Why Burt Reynolds?" She asked with curiosity.

"Do you even have to ask?" Tré challenged. Abel shrugged.

"I suppose I don't," She announced with a smug grin. She rolled her window down as they rambled down the street.

"I have a surprise for you," Tré said then. Her eyebrow rose suspiciously.

"No more surprises," She beseeched him. He beamed cheekily.

"Trust me," He directed, "you're going to love this one." She exhaled heavily and looked fixedly out the window helplessly.

Eventually, they reached a little coffee house called The Cool Beans. Abel looked around, perplexed.

"The surprise is a coffee shop?" She asked Tré with befuddlement.

"We're just picking it up here," He said with an amused look. He pressed the peeping horn twice before folding his hands behind his head, waiting. Abel gazed at the café in fascination.

Finally, from the door stepped two men Abel identified at once. She gasped and turned to Tré, dewy-eyed. The taller of the two, a blonde who she identified immediately as Mike Dirnt, knocked on the van’s side door. Tré flipped a switch near the stirring wheel and the door began to creak open. Abel's hands began to sweat, and she froze in place. The dark-haired person, obviously Billie, jokingly shoved past Mike and climbed inside with a loud chuckle.

Abel held back a squeal as she comprehended that she was in the presence of all three member of Green Day. Mike stepped in and slammed the door behind him. Abel found herself practically melting into the seat as she frantically glared at Tré. He turned in his seat and smirked.

"So," He started, "this small person liquefying into the seat is Abel." She squeaked at the sound of her name. Billie pushed past Tré and turned to look at Abel, who was now curled into a tight little ball, peering innocuously back at him. He smiled and held out his small tattooed hand. She hesitated but reached out to take it. His calloused fingers closed over her hand and shook it firmly.

"I've heard a lot about you," Billie informed her with a snicker. Abel eyed Tré with chagrin. He let go of her and scooted back into the back where he leaned against the bench seat next to Mike, whispering. Tré rolled his eyes and shifted the van, once again, into gear.

On the way to Tré's house, the three spoke animatedly, leaving no room for Abel to speak, for which she was grateful. She wasn't sure she'd be able to speak anytime soon. They pulled in the driveway and Abel heard barking from inside the house. Tré flipped the switch again and Mike and Billie piled out, smiling mischievously. Tré winked at her and climbed out. She sat focusing on breathing before Mike pulled her door open for her.

"T-thanks," she croaked, climbing from inside. He nodded agreeably and started forward following after Billie, who was already letting himself in. Tré was at her side then. She breathed a sigh of alleviation and looked up at him.

He still smiled down at her his hands in his pockets, but she saw a hint of concern in his eyes and she tried not to appear as intimidated as she felt. She had thought to be near Tré made her faint-hearted, but the three of them together was a whole new, amazing and terrifying situation.

"Don't worry," He whispered humorously, "they don't bite." She couldn't help but smile up at him as the light faded from the sky.

"In that area," She informed him, as they reached the door, "it's not them I'm worried about." He snapped his teeth at her and pushed the door open. She took a moment to let the glow fade from her cheeks before Dooder jumped through the door and tackled her. The tangle-haired dog licked her face eagerly and barked in her ear. She cringed and Tré pushed him off her. He dropped to his knees and hugged the odd-looking hybrid around the neck affectionately. Dooder turned and licked Tré in the face, vigilantly. Abel chortled as the dog's tail beat weakly against the stoop.

Tré simpered up at her and explained, "He's been at the vet since Friday. He had to be neutered. He kept humping stuff."

Abel burst out laughing then. Tré stood placed his hands on his hips and looked miffed.

"What's funny about that?" He asked and she couldn't tell if he was truly upset.

"Nothing," She uttered, "it's just if that's the reason you had him neutered, I'd imagine you're next in line." A smile broke his resolution. Mike and Billie stood expectantly at the bottom of the stairs. Mike stood with his gangly, yet graceful, arms crossed over his chest and Billie chuckling good-naturedly. Dooder ran inside as Frankito walked in from the hallway.

Tré gestured forward and said, "After you."

Abel's cheeks blazed as she stepped inside.

"Abel," Billie divulged with a titter, "I think you may be a bad influence." Abel halted in the door causing Tré to bump into her. He apologized and she flushed.

"What do you mean?" She muttered, jaunting toward the couch.

"Well," Mike told her with a smile, "He's unusually being nice."

"Psh," Tré wisecracked, "I'm always nice."

"No, you are not," Mike retorted with a loud laugh.

Billie Joe added, "I thought you said this girl was a Green Day expert, not a sap." Abel's skin flamed and Tré just shrugged.

Mike turned to her with a disparaging look, "what do you think Abel? Is Tré a nice guy?"

She stared down at her hands a moment, "No. Not really." Tré looked shocked. She looked up then, beaming at the three of them.

"But that's what makes him so nice."

"Boom," Tré said stepping towards his bandmates, "In your faces." Abel giggled quite loudly and the three of them looked queerly at her and she shrugged.

"I'm ready to play, I think," Mike announced and started up the stairs. With that, Tré and Billie started quickly after him. Tré turned expectantly and signaled for her to follow him. She skittered off the couch and hastened after them. They all filed in and with grace and speed, they were in their proper positions. Billie Joe already had the Stratocaster slung over his slim shoulders and was adjusting his microphone stand. Mike was plugging his bass into a Fender amplifier. Tré sat eagerly behind the drums, drumsticks in hand, smiling from ear to ear. Abel closed the door behind her, gaping at them all the while. She simply slid down the door to watch them.

Abruptly, Billie looked to them both and without a word they jumped into 'Geek Stink Breath.' Abel stared in stupefaction. They were like magicians in her eyes. She was putty in their hands as they sang aloud and worked their instruments to their fullest capacity. Her eyes habitually fell upon Tré, whose tanned skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he kept every beat and his face contorted with effort. They threaded easily into each song with little to no cue.

Abel's breath was low and ragged in her chest after a couple of hours of boisterously wonderful music beating against her eardrums. All three members of the band were soaked in sweat, thanks to the lack of ventilation in the room. They had finally wound down to 'Brutal Love' and Abel gazed in fondness at them. As they reached their last notes, she jumped swiftly to her feet, despite their numbness, and applauded emphatically. Tré smiled widely, showing his tiny teeth. Billie and Mike bowed low with gracious smiles on their faces.

Later, the four of them sat at the kitchen. Billie had absently from a can of root beer, his green eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Abel hunkered down quietly, enthralled. Every once in awhile, they'd ask her a yes or no question and she'd shake her head in reply.

"Abel," Mike said now, looking serious, "How'd did you make it?"

"Make what?" She squeaked in confusion.

"On the beach," He reminded her. She balked and turned to Tré. He looked innocently over at her and she stood quickly.

"I-I… He told you that?" She inquired wildly. Billie and Mike nodded slowly.

“I, um… Sorry,” she stammered, turned around and hurried out of the kitchen, her footsteps heavy.

"Abel, I-" Tré called after her. She didn't stop to listen; she could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart in her ears. She sat inside the spare room, her face in her hands as wave after wave of shame and humiliation washed over her. She knew it was irrational for her to expect him to not tell them about her past, she had hoped that he wouldn't go straight into her dirty history. Tears were seeping down her cheeks and she curled up in a ball against the headboard.

Later that night, there was a soft knock on the door, and she couldn’t find her voice to answer. Tré came in, anyway, ignoring her silence as she knew he would. He stood a dark silhouette in the doorway. Abel stared blankly up at him as he came to sit at the edge of the bed, a frown on his round face.

"I'm sorry," He declared, "It wasn't my business to tell them."

She shook her head, "It's okay. This affects a lot more people than just me."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Tré."

"Are you sure?" She simply nodded.

"I'm going to go to bed, I think," Abel added vacantly. He stood then and began to the doorway. He turned toward her as he reached the hallway.

"Goodnight," He murmured softly and began closing the door behind him, “and I just want you to know… No one looks at you any differently.”

"'Night," Abel whispered, sliding under the blankets and into an unrestful sleep.


	6. Somewhere Now

Abel woke sluggishly, covered in sweat. She threw the blanket off her and dragged herself to the dresser to grab her things. She shuffled from the room, hearing Tré’s increasingly familiar snore from down the hall. Once downstairs, she closed herself inside the bathroom and peeled her clothes off, being careful not to observe her frail body too closely. She peered into her own tired, green eyes searchingly. She found that her cheeks had plumped up and her hair had regained a weak shine after only several days. She turned the water of the shower boiling hot, stepped under and never even flinched at the scalding heat.

She still felt entirely dejected after the night before. She could only imagine the things Mike and Billie thought of her. Even Tré had seemed to be focusing on that detail and with good reason, she supposed. She already owed him her life, she couldn't stand the concept that he thought down upon her. When she dried herself and dressed, she walked into the kitchen, where Frankito sat eating cereal from a comically large bowl.

She grinned warily at him and sat down at the island, "You're up awful early."

"So are you," Frankito observed with his mouth full, "It's only 5:30."

Abel glanced at the clock on the stove and saw that he was right.

"You alright?" Frankito asked, confused by her blank expression. She shrugged and got up to leave.

"Abel," Frankito said after her, "whatever's bothering you, it’s not something you have to face alone." She turned to look at him and wondered how this barely teenaged boy could so easily see through her. She continued back upstairs where she sat for the next hour and a half, sketching in a notebook she’d borrowed from Frankito, until Tré walked by, running his fingers through his messy hair. He stopped in the doorway and peered at her sleepily.

"You could have woke me up," He grumbled while stretching.

"What can I say? I find your snoring soothing," She joked grimly. He chuckled and she just stared beyond him to the darkened wall.

"I'm going to go get dressed, I guess," Tré told her nonchalantly. Abel took a second to appreciate that he was standing shirtless in her doorway and, against her will, her cheeks flooded with color. With that, he smirked and walked back down the hall. She abandoned her sketch to wait for him in the living room while he dressed.

He flipped the lights on as he came down with a puzzled look on his round face.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asked queerly. She shrugged and started wordlessly for the door. She felt bad. Tré had really done nothing to deserve the silent treatment and she wasn't even angry, but she was mortified and embarrassed of her past. She knew she should let it go before her attitude lead to more questions which she wasn't sure she could answer.

She came to stand beside Gypsy and Tré followed after her sulkily. He unlocked the cherry red vehicle and Abel slid inside. He got in and looked at her with confusion, so she faked a smile before staring out the windshield. Tré didn't seem convinced but he pulled out of the driveway, nonetheless. They coasted quickly down the streets and Tré seemed more reckless than usual.

As they pulled up in front of Adeline Records, Tré turned to her, his blue eyes full of uncertainty.

"I'm really sorry about last night," He began, "I had to tell-"

Abel cut him off, "Tré, I'm not mad at you. I understand." His eyes searched her face looking for signs that she was deceiving him. After a moment, he sighed in relief. She thanked him for the ride and hurried out of Gypsy's interior.

As Abel expected, he was gone by the time she reached the door. She sighed and started down the road in the other direction. She was already beating herself up for her irresponsibility, but it was like she couldn’t stop her feet as they pulled her further and further from Adeline. As she went the neighborhoods got worse and worse, and the more nervous she became. The areas she had explored in the past were much more hospitable but despite the risks, she delved deeper. She walked for hours until the sun was high overhead leaving her sweating but found she still had two hours to kill. Eventually, she happened upon a gritty, little coffee shop in the middle of the Barrio. It didn't seem to fit in a place like this filthy, crime-ridden landscape but alas, there it was. She thanked her lucky stars and shoved her way inside.

She stopped short at the door. A familiar song drifted from the small, smoky stage and her eyes watered. She would have known the voice just about anywhere. She turned toward the voice and smiled. Sitting upon a worn stool, her dark hair curled around her pretty face was a familiar face, with an acoustic guitar in her lap as she sang sweetly into the microphone. She hesitated next to a table, near the front, before pulling herself into a chair.

Questions coursed through her mind. ‘Why was she there? When did she come?’ The rest of her inquiries, she pushed away because the pain attached to them was too much to bear. Her old friend sang through several songs and every sing one brought up bittersweet memories. Finally, when her setlist was near finished, she announced that she would be taking a break. Abel stood on shaky legs and began towards her. The manager of the shop passed Autumn a bottle of water and she stood in singularly in the corner drinking from it.

"Autumn," Abel called out to her shrilly. Autumn turned but as she took in Abel's countenance, there was nothing, but wary confusion and she turned away. Abel's breath hitched in her throat. Her first thought was Autumn had no interest in speaking to her. She rounded mutely and shoved past patrons, out the door. Pain ripped through her as she trudged back toward Adeline Records. She didn't really know where she was but at that moment she couldn’t have cared less if she got lost, at that moment. She felt childish and like a specter caught between two worlds with no one really seeing her.

She didn't notice that someone had followed her out. Hot tears streamed down her sharp cheeks and she made no effort to dry them. She walked on and on, for blocks, before she perceived the sound of footsteps behind her growing steadily closer and closer. As her fear intensified, she found that she was gasping for air. She felt her pockets for anything she could use to defend herself and found absolutely nothing. She braced herself, trying to remember what to do in a situation like this and she knew that in the condition she was in, she would never be able to make a run for it. As she passed the mouth of an alleyway, it happened.

Someone slapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her down the alley, her screams muffled against their palm. They slammed her against the dirty, brick wall. She found herself face to face a switchblade, she couldn't even focus on the man's face, but she heard his voice loud and clear.

"Give me everything in your pockets," He growled at her, waving the blade too close to her face for comfort.

"I don't have anything," She blubbered, shrinking away from him.

"Bullshit," He howled and hit her in the face. She shrieked uselessly and fell into the garbage behind her. He ripped her to her feet by her collar and forcefully placed her back against the wall.

He pressed the knife to her throat, and she could feel the hot bite of it breaking the skin.

"Empty your pockets, now," He snarled, "I don't want your blood on my hands." A fresh sting of terror rippled through her and she began turning out her empty pockets. He hissed as each time she came up empty handed, and she felt sure she was going be murdered in broad daylight in a dingey alleyway.

Just then someone screamed, "Get away from her!"

Both she and her captor turned in shock. At the end of the back street stood Autumn, a brick in her hand. The man let out a cackling laugh and turned to face her. Abel grasped her throat glad to be free of the piercing feeling.

"What are you going to do about it, sweetheart?" He taunted before grasping a hand full of Abel's hair. She whimpered and tried to pull away.

"I fucking warned you," Autumn called. Then without another word, she lobbed the brick at him. It hit him squarely in the stomach and he released Abel's hair before collapsing to his knees.

Autumn advanced and Abel scrambled away from the man. Autumn grabbed him by the collar with one hand and delivered a blow to his face with the other. Abel cringed as she heard the crunch of his nose breaking.

"You can't just go around hurting people," She shouted in his bloodied face, "you complete fucking scum!" The man's eyes rolled in his head and Autumn dropped him carelessly to the ground.

She rushed to Abel and pulled her to her feet.

"You're lucky I was passing by. Are you okay?" Autumn asked, grasping her gently by the shoulders. Abel found that she was unable to speak. Autumn's blue eyes searched Abel's now bruising face before becoming wide in her slim face.

"A-Abel?" She squeaked. Abel had begun to cry again and simply nodded. Autumn pulled Abel's scrawny body into an unexpected, tight hug and to Abel's surprise Autumn began to sob into her hair.

Autumn pushed her back then, her blue eyes tear-rimmed and serious.

"I thought you were dead," She shrieked, "We all thought you were fucking dead!"

"I-I'm sorry," Abel told her hoarsely. Autumn shook her head.

"I'm taking you home," She said to Abel briskly, pulling her from the alley "Where are you staying?"

Once back on the street, she shoved Abel into the passenger seat of her familiar truck and went around before getting inside herself.

"Well?" She asked expectantly.

"Well, what?" Abel inquired, hoping she wouldn't want an explanation.

"Give me your address?" Autumn demanded.

"Wait," Abel halted her, thinking of Tré and everything that had happened the night before, "Where are you staying? Can I stay with you?"

Autumn's face softened, "I have a place not far from here, but I don't really have any room." Abel remembered Autumn's daughter just then.

"Is Alyx here in California?" Abel asked warily.

Autumn nodded, "She's with Paul."

Despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she had to ask, "Who's Paul?"

Autumn laughed sharply, "That's a story for another day. Address?" Abel sighed in defeat and told her what she knew of how to get back to Tré's house. They cruised the streets in silence, though Autumn stole distracted glances at Abel every once in a while, as though she would disappear if she were to look away for too long. Abel wished that she could disappear.

Autumn gasped as they pulled in the driveway of the large, white house in which she had taken up residence.

"Autumn," Abel told her, "About the person I'm staying with-"

Autumn interrupted her, "I don't care who they are. I'm going to give them a piece of my mind for letting you wander around Oakland alone." Abel shrank back from her anger and ducked out of the truck's door.

Autumn practically dragged Abel behind her to the door. Abel stepped behind Autumn's tall frame as she began to bang on Tré's door. The door flew open then to a frazzled looking Tré, grasping his keys, as though he was on his way out. Autumn's eyes widened but her scowl did not wane.

"Tré Cool?" She asked bitterly.

"Yeah," He said with bewilderment, "Who are you?" Autumn stepped aside then to reveal Abel and her black and blue cheek.

"I'm an old friend of hers," Autumn grumbled. As Tré took in Abel's rattled personage, shock and relief mingled in his eyes.

"Abel," He started.

"I found her in the Barrio with a fucking knife to her throat," She shouted at him bitterly. He gaped back in forth between the two women for a moment.

"Come in," He said simply. Autumn guided Abel to the couch and Tré stood before them unsure what to do. Autumn cleared her throat and his light-blue eyes focused on her.

"She needs to put ice on that bruise or it's going to swell," She told him. He nodded and started for the kitchen. Abel's cheeks were burning. Her friend was, after all, berating a millionaire rockstar in his own home.

"So," Autumn asked turning her burning gaze on Abel, "How did all this happen?"

"I'm not really sure how to explain," Abel sputtered helplessly.

"Abel, you need to call your mom," Autumn began, "She thinks you-"

"Shh!" Abel told her ferociously, "I don't want to talk about this here."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Autumn whispered, "If you'd just tell the cops-" Tré walked in then with a bag of frozen peas.

"I don't have any plastic bags," He admitted awkwardly, "Will this work?"

Autumn rolled her eyes at him, "It'll work." She stood and grabbed it from his hand before pressing it to Abel's damaged face. Abel sighed in relief and took it from Autumn's hands. Autumn stood and looked down at Abel, her eyes filled with pain and puzzlement.

"I have to pick up Alyx from Paul's," She told Abel, pulling a pen and a receipt from her pocket. She bent over the table and scribbled furiously on the back of the paper.

She shoved it into Abel's empty hand, "This discussion isn't over." With that, she nodded to Tré and let herself out.

Abel and Tré look soberly at each other.

"I'm sorry," They both began at the same time. Abel dropped the peas and the paper, stood and came to stand a few feet in front of him.

"I'm such an idiot," She gushed, "I just got so upset over nothing. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

"No," He told her, "I should have realized-"

"Tré," She stopped him, "That's what I've been trying to tell you. You've done everything for me and more. Don't kick yourself about it."

"I was going to come look for you, after Adrienne called." Abel winced at the thought of Adrienne.

He continued, "I thought I should give you time to cool off. I never thought-" Abel tensed, new tears brimming in her eyes at the thought of her attack.

She realized that these days she owed her life to just about everyone. Tré looked mildly uncomfortable but sympathetic, nonetheless.

"D-do you want to talk about it?" He asked nervously, his thin lips pulled in an uncharacteristic frown.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, then and she covered her face to shield Tré.

"I was sure I was going to die," She admitted, unrelenting sobs racking her frail body.

"B-but you didn't," Tré reminded her somberly; his hands tucked into the pockets of his 50s diner pants, “thank… thank God, you didn’t.”

"If it weren't for Autumn though," She trailed off, her brain replaying the scenario over and over.

"It won't happen again," Tré told her suddenly serious, “I won’t let it.”

She peered up at him from her hands; his blue eyes pierced her tear-sparkling green ones.

"I said I would help you," He reminded her, "and that includes keeping you safe."

Against her will, her face pulled into a weak smile.

"Tré," She told him emphatically, "I'm so fucking thankful for you."

He smiled at her for a moment and without another word pulled her into a gentle hug. She tensed against his chest but as he was about to release her, she wrapped her skinny arms around him, holding him to her. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned her tear-stained and bruised face against his chest and to her surprise, everything hurt a little less. They remained that way until she could cry no longer.


	7. She

_It was as though time had slowed down. The smell of mildew and garbage clung to her nostrils. Her ragged breath ripped painfully through her chest as she ran. Her eyes watered in fear and exertion as the pounding footsteps behind her grew closer and closer. The sun overhead glared in her face like a spotlight, as though it were waiting for her to slip up._

_Her heart thundered in her ears and without warning a fist was ripping her to the ground by her hair. She slammed against the dirty pavement with a dull thud. A silhouette stood ominously above her, a gleaming blade in hand. The dark figure pressed it to her throat._

Abel would have shot awake, if there hadn't been a strong arm tucked firmly around her. She inhaled sharply and squirmed in fear, turning to see her captor. She quickly stilled as she saw Tré's sleeping face, his head leaning against the back of the couch, a soft snore emanating from his throat. Her cheeks reddened and she attempted to slip from his grasp. Just then Frankito started down the stairs, an entertained look on his face.

"Help?" Abel squeaked quietly. Frankito approached with a faint chuckle and clutched Tré's shoulder.

"Dad," He shouted shaking him, and Abel in the process.

His grip on Abel loosened but he didn't open his eyes. Abel took this opportunity to make her escape and ducked from beneath his muscular bicep, only to accidentally sit on the bag of not-so-frozen peas. Frankito shook Tré harder and finally, after a moment he squinted up at him.

He scratched his mussed-up auburn hair and mumbled, "The fuck?"

Frankito looked down upon him with an amused grin, "Dad, it's 7:40."

"What?" Abel asked frantically, “oh fuck!”

Without waiting for an answer, Abel shot to her feet and ran upstairs to get ready. Ever since last night, she had been determined to make it up to Adrienne, if she'd let her. Abel tried to envision Adrienne's face red with anger, but the image was hard to picture. She dressed as quickly as possible, brushed her hair and teeth, and darted back downstairs where Tré sat grinning tiredly up at her. She blushed as she reached the couch. He stood and walked towards her, but she surprised them both by taking a few steps back. The time she spent in his arms was wonderful but she never in a million years expected anything to come of it. Tré turned then and quickly grabbed his keys from the table. They wordlessly slipped through the door and started toward Gypsy. Once inside, Tré smiled contentedly and blazed a path down the driveway.

It was an especially warm day for late summer and Abel could feel the sweat beading on the back of her neck as they pulled up out front of Adeline. Tré caught her attention and for a moment they just looked quietly into each other's eyes. Rouge blossomed in Abel's bruised cheeks and she had to look away. Tré laughed in amusement and cleared his throat.

"Adrienne has my number," He began, "So if you want to come home early or anything..."

He trailed off and Abel smiled inwardly at his mention of home, as it seemed that Tré had grown comfortable with her presence.

"I'll be good, today," She promised only half-joking.

She slipped from Gypsy's smooth interior and towards the nondescript building. As she reached the door, she rounded to see Tré still watching, an encouraging smirk on his thin lips. She waved quickly and shoved inside. Already, the exquisite lobby was flooded with just about every type of person. She squeezed against the wall, as an old man with a large cart, moved to refill the vending machine, only to bump into a young boy, whose face was extremely reminiscent of his father's.

"Jakob," She said then, "Is your mom around?"

"Yeah," Jakob said, shoving away from the wall, "She's around here somewhere, running around like a chicken with her head cut off, probably."

Abel chuckled and followed after him towards Adrienne's office. The desk outside Adrienne's door was stacked with invoices for Abel to file but first, she had to apologize.

She knocked timidly and Jakob scurried down the hallway, calling after someone.

"Come in," Adrienne shouted from inside and Abel let herself in, closing the door behind her.

"Adrienne," She started, "I'm so sorry."

Adrienne glowered at the computer screen before her.

"Taking off like that was inexcusable," Abel stammered.

Adrienne looked up at her, finally, and gasped. She stood and walked toward Abel. She grabbed Abel's chin and turned her face to examine it.

"You look awful," She told her, not unkindly.

Abel instinctively jerked away from her grasp. Adrienne didn't seem to notice as she picked up the phone from her desk.

"Sofia," She said, immediately, "I've got an emergency here, come as soon as you can and bring your kit."

With that, she placed the phone back on its receiver and sat back down in her cushy office chair.

"Sofia?" Abel asked softly, "Who's she?"

Adrienne had already returned to scowling at her computer.

"Our makeup artist, for photoshoots," Adrienne told her, without looking up.

Then, a tall blonde stepped through the door, a large makeup case in her hands. Abel glanced nervously back at her and Sofia gasped, in the same manner that Adrienne had.

"This really is an emergency," Sofia said starting toward Abel, "You're a disaster."

"Sofia," Adrienne admonished her.

"What?" She asked with attitude, "It's true."

Adrienne sighed and Abel stood silently, embarrassed.

"Get her cleaned up," Adrienne chuckled, "But quickly, Jakob and the guys have a photoshoot at 10."

Sofia nodded and practically shoved Abel into a chair.

"Can we get more light in here?" Sofia asked Adrienne, "I have a lot of work to do."

Adrienne pulled the curtains aside, flooding the room with sunlight. For the next 45 minutes, Abel felt like a guinea pig as Sofia applied huge amounts of concealer to her damaged face. That part was the quickest, but Sofia insisted that she be allowed to completely make her over. She seemed almost excited. Abel guessed that she was good if Adrienne employed her, so she tried not to worry about the result.

She plucked Abel's eyebrows until her eyes watered from the sting. From there, she covered Abel's chapped lips in lipstick and lipliner, snarking all the time. Finally, she tugged Abel's hair into a thick braid at the back of her neck before stepping back to admire her work.

"I'm a miracle worker," She told Abel with a smug smile.

Abel sat still so as not to ruin Sofia's hard work. Sofia quickly called Adrienne into the office. As she stepped inside, she gasped, again, but this time in awe.

"You're a miracle worker," She exclaimed, confirming Sofia’s proclamation.

"I know," Sofia told her with a grin, "she's actually kind of cute when she doesn't look like she was in a bar fight." Abel flushed and it took all her strength not to cover her face with her hands.

"What do you think?" Sofia asked Abel, holding a mirror for her to see herself. Abel was speechless. There was no trace of the purple blemish that had adorned her face just an hour before. Her green eyes were bright and glowing, her pink lips plump and pretty.

"You're amazing," Abel murmured. Adrienne nodded in ascent.

Abel stood then.

"I really should get to work," She reminded them. Adrienne smiled at her initiative and held the door open for her.

As she skittered out Sofia called after her, "You better not screw up my handiwork."

For the next 7 hours, Abel powered through her paperwork, finishing in record time. She typed out memos and fliers with a smile on her face, the whole time. She was beginning to feel human again.

At five, she knocked on Adrienne's door to say good-bye. Adrienne called for her to come in and as she stepped inside Adrienne smiled up at her.

"I was just stopping into to say ‘bye,’" Abel told her with a grin. Now that her fear had subsided, she really thought she might enjoy working for Adrienne.

"You were great, today," Adrienne complimented her.

"Thanks," Abel said clinging to the doorknob, thinking of Tré most likely already waiting out front, "That means a lot to me."

"Well, we're all having a thing tonight, at the beach," Adrienne told her cautiously. Abel just stood looking her in her dark eyes.

"I'd like you to come," Adrienne said then, before adding, "If you want to."

"I'll be there," Abel confirmed with a smile, before excusing herself from Adrienne's office. As she stepped outside, the humidity hit her full-on, like a cup of hot water thrown in her face. Already at the curb, Tré sat inside Gypsy with the top down. As she approached, she saw he was wearing a black wife beater with his tattooed biceps exposed. She thanked God for the concealer on her cheeks as she blushed scarlet. As she hopped in the passenger seat, Tré did a double-take.

"What?" She asked shyly as his eyes took in her made-over face. To her surprise, Tré himself blushed. Her eyebrows rose and her cheeks grew even hotter.

"Nothing," He told her queerly, "You just look… different." She chuckled and pulled her leather jacket from her shoulders. Tré placed a small plastic bag in her lap.

"What is this?" She asked him with puzzlement.

"It's a tank top and shorts," He started, "This is California, it's too hot to wear jeans and T-shirts, all the time." She blanched, remembering about the beach. She thanked him hesitantly and they started down the street.

"You can change when we get home," He told her with a smirk, "Mike and them are already at the beach."

'Of course, he already knows Adrienne invited me,' She thought, 'or maybe it was his idea.' As she pushed thought away, Tré flipped the radio on, where Billy Idol's 'Dancing with Myself' played. Tré surprised her by turning it up and beginning to sing aloud and by the time they pulled in the driveway both of them were singing at the top of their lungs. Tré smiled coyly at her as he let her inside, where Frankito sat, already dressed in a wetsuit and waxing a surfboard.

"How's the surf going to be today, Frankie?" Tré asked him with a proud grin.

"There are supposed to be huge swells," Frankito told him with more excitement than Abel had ever seen from him. She excused herself upstairs with the plastic bag in hand. As she stepped inside the spare room, she sighed with worry. She stripped down to her underwear before examining the contents of the bag. She blushed as she pulled a skimpy, red tank top and jean shorts from inside. 'Way to be subtle, Tré,' She thought as she pulled them on. She pulled her leather jacket back on over her bare shoulders without a thought.

"You're wearing a leather jacket to the beach?" Tré asked with an odd look in his eyes, as she came downstairs.

"It's not even that hot," She lied swiftly, heading for the door. Tré rolled his blue eyes and followed her out, Frankito in tow.

"Shotgun!" Frankito called hopping into the passenger seat of Gypsy. Abel chuckled and got in the backseat. They drifted through the burning California streets with smiles on their faces.

By the time they parked at Crown Beach, Frankito was already out of the car and running toward the water, surfboard under his arm. Tré hopped out of Gypsy, before opening Abel's door for her with an accommodating grin. She smiled over at him and they began down the beach, where a black S.U.V. sat next to a darkened patch of sand, which had been used for a bonfire sometime recently, surrounded by lawn chairs. She kicked off her Chuck's and held them over her shoulder by the laces. She sighed, breathing the smell of salt water and feeling the sand between her toes. It was nice to spending time on a beach that she hadn’t slept on. Mike hopped out of the S.U.V., a small, pretty, blonde girl in his arms. She shrieked in joy and Mike put her down with a chuckle. The girl ran to Tré and he grabbed and spun her around quickly, in a circle.

"Uncle Tré," She squealed as he placed her back on her feet, "What took you so long?" Abel noticed the little girl had already a light tan.

"I was picking up my friend, Abel," Tré explained, gesturing to her. The blonde child smiled shyly up at her.

"Hi, I'm Ryan," She told Abel with a quick wave before running to the S.U.V., as Mike's wife, Brittney climbed from the passenger seat. Ryan was just her likeness in a smaller version. The beautiful blonde smiled toothily and scooped Ryan into her arms. As they approached the large truck Abel saw a mini version of Mike. Brixton, no doubt. Without notice, she was suddenly smiling so hard her cheeks hurt even worse than before. Tré smirked over at her and sat down, while she shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts, wondering how exactly Tré had figured out her clothing sizes. She looked at him with confusion and he beamed innocently up at her before a Frisbee hit him in the head.

He and Abel turned to see Billie Joe walking hand in hand with Adrienne, laughing heartily, Jakob and Joey behind them, both in wet suits. Abel burst out laughing, then. Tré frowned comically at her and raised an eyebrow before standing, grabbing the Frisbee, launching it at Billie and missing completely.

Billie chuckled as the Frisbee sailed off into the choppy ocean. In the distance, Abel could see Frankito paddling out, Jakob and Joey running out with their boards, to meet him.

"Nice one," Mike commented with a laugh, walking out to meet Billie and Adrienne. Tré shrugged and sat back down before waving Abel over. She knelt beside him and he pulled a flask from the pocket of his shorts.

"Want some?" He asked her slyly, before taking a swig.

"What about Billie?" Abel asked in a hushed tone, her eyes wide with worry. Tré rolled his eyes.

"Billie's fine. I mean people get drunk at our shows all the time," Tré said as though he was reassuring himself, "just be discreet."

"I think I'm okay," She told him, pulling herself into the chair next to him. Tré shrugged and slid the flask back in his pocket with a smile. Soon, Mike had started a driftwood fire, the flames burning blue and green due to sea salt. The 9 of them sat in a circle around the heat. Billie Joe sat strumming an acoustic guitar, absently. Adrienne's chair was pulled up close, next to him, a smile on her round face. They all talked expeditiously, with the exception of Abel, who was contented to just listen. Tré smiled over at her and drank from his flask, occasionally.

Ryan and Brixton slept in the laps of Mike and Brittney, smiles on their faces as the sunset streaked orange and pink across the sky until it met the ocean.

"I think I should probably get them home," Brittney said, after a couple of hours, gazing at Ryan's dreaming face with a very maternal look. Mike started to stand but Adrienne held her hand up.

"I can give you a ride," Adrienne told her with a smile, looking to Jakob and Joey, who sat looking only mildly interested in their surroundings, before turning to Tré, "I can take Frankito, too. I drove the van." Tré looked to Frankito, who just shrugged and stood. Abel blushed as Mike and Billie kissed their respective gorgeous wives good-bye before they started down the beach to the parking lot, Ryan and Brixton in each of their arms.

Once they were gone, Tré hopped to his feet and started down the darkened beach. Abel, Mike, and Billie just stared after him in confusion.

"Are you coming?" He shouted over his shoulder and Abel was quickly on her feet, following him, Mike and Billie in tow, the three still looking puzzled. As they reached him, he smiled and pulled something from behind his ear that Abel hadn't seen before. He held the joint out for her to see.

"Do you partake?" He asked her, sounding quite amused. She nodded hesitantly and Billie and Mike laughed.

He pulled a lighter from his pocket expertly lit the joint and inhaled, before passing it to Billie. Abel's eyes were wide as Tré began to cough and Billie gave the joint to Mike. Before long, the three of them were coughing, standing in the middle of the beach.

"It's been a while," Billie grumbled, a smile on his plump lips. Mike and Tré laughed and soon the joint was in Abel's shaking hand. 'Don't do anything stupid,' she warned herself before taking a large hit, only to immediately begin hacking painfully. When the joint was burned to almost nothing, Tré threw the roach in the sand and they made their way back to the bonfire.

The four of them sat close together, Billie picking the acoustic back up and strumming with more focus. Their eyes grew red and soon they were all four making increasingly silly jokes, including Abel, which surprised the guys.

"We should get you high, more often," Tré commented with an elated grin after she made a particularly ridiculous joke about Mike's hair. Abel rubbed her drooping eyes and smiled admiringly back at him. Mike cleared his throat, startling them both.

At some point, Billie had acquired a napkin and pen and now sat scribbling on to it, on his knee.

"I'd better get Billie home," Mike told them with a sleepy smile. Billie grinned toothily, muttering distractedly under his breath.

"I've got to play this shit out," Billie told them, standing abruptly, his guitar across his back. They said their good-byes and Mike and Billie drove from the beach, as the bonfire reduced to embers.

Tré and Abel made their way back to Gypsy, so close their hands bumped occasionally as they walked in comfortable silence. They cruised the dark streets, as Blind Melon sang 'No Rain' through the speakers. Abel sighed with joy as the wind blew her too-long hair back. They soon pulled into the driveway, Abel's eyes growing heavy. They ambled to the door of the darkened house and Tré let them in.

He flipped the lights on, once inside, and rotated Abel to take off her jacket and in her thoughtlessness, she let him. But she was quickly brought back to reality when he gasped and dropped her jacket to the ground. She went to turn quickly but he gently grabbed her shoulders to stop her. A knot formed in her throat as he took it all in.

Her back was barely visible through the tank top, but what skin that was exposed was covered in scars. Long, pink, jagged scars lined the skin of her back; the rest was marred by burns. He turned her to face him then, his light-blue eyes blazing with anger and shock.

She shook her head, silently pleading for him to not ask.

"W-who did that to you?" Tré demanded with a quaver in his furious voice.

"No," She gasped, tears brimming her wide, green eyes, “please, no!”

"No, what?" He asked confusion mingling with his anger, no sign of relenting slipping though. Her knees gave out then and she dropped to the floor. She relived all the memories she had blocked out for those months, in a matter of seconds. A sob ripped through her, though to her it sounded more like the cry of a wounded animal.

"Please," She begged in a hushed tone, remembering Frankito upstairs, tears streaming down her cheeks and ruining Sofia's work, "Don't make me talk about it."

Tré, too, dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, protectively. She burrowed into his chest, pleading with herself to forget, for the pain to wane like last night, but it remained.

"Never?" He whispered into her hair. She turned her head to look at him and found their faces only inches apart, his eyeliner rimmed eyes piercing hers. He softly swiped a tear from her eye and her skin became hot.

"Someday," She promised him, cursing herself inside, all the while. She froze as he leaned in toward her. He lightly kissed her forehead and pulled her closer.

"I'll be waiting," He pledged. Any doubt she had then about Tré wanting her around vanished and for a moment, only a moment she felt no pain.


End file.
